Nightwatcher

# 270. End of the Spring Exams

The examination hall for the Spring Imperial Examinations consisted of rows of small dark cells known as *haoshe*, “numbered rooms”. Once a candidate entered, the supervising *haobing* “number guards” would lock the door, leaving only a small window for delivering the exam papers.

For the entire day, candidates had to eat, drink, and attend to nature’s calls inside the small, dimly lit rooms.

Under the faint glow of the flickering candle, the tiny room was bathed in a warm, yellowish light. Xu Erlang sat at his desk, slowly adding water to the inkstone, preparing to grind ink.

There was still plenty of time before the examination began, and this interval was enough for him to calm his mind and think.

Historically, the Imperial Examinations emphasized the Confucian classics while paying less attention to poetry and prose. Moreover, the poetry scene of the Great Feng had long been in decline. Thus, for most candidates, the final round of the examinations was merely a formality.

When entering the examination hall earlier, the scholars Xu Erlang was acquainted with had been laughing and chatting, relaxed and carefree. Unlike the first two rounds, where they had worn serious expressions, tense and focused as if marching into battle.

Others could afford to relax, but Xu Erlang knew he couldn’t afford to be careless.

He was a student of Cloud Deer Academy, and given the court's attitude toward the academy’s scholars, even if he passed and became a *jinshi*, he would either be sent to a remote, impoverished area or left to languish without an official post.

Xu Erlang had his ambitions. He neither wanted to be exiled to a desolate region nor left in the capital to be shelved.

*The road ahead is long…* Xu Xinnian sighed.

Just then, the haobing knocked on the small window and called out in a muffled voice, “Master, your exam paper has arrived.”

The candidates for the Spring Imperial Examinations were all *juren*, scholars with the qualifications to become officials, so the guards addressed them as “Master.”

Xu Xinnian received the paper and spread it out on the desk. By this time, the sky was starting to brighten, although the sun had not yet risen.

Under the warm glow of the candlelight, Xu Xinnian read the question: a line from *Chengzi · Warfare*: “The three armies can be deprived of their commander, but the will of a common man cannot be taken away.”

A well-read scholar like Xu Erlang instantly grasped the theme: Ode to Aspiration!

He stared at the paper, momentarily dumbfounded, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Did my brother step in dog shit before entering my room that day?” Xu Erlang muttered to himself.

How could he have guessed this correctly?

Xu Erlang had brushed off the matter of drawing lots that day as merely humouring his annoying older brother. Though it was possible to predict questions for the classics and policy essays based on clues and trends, poetry topics were entirely at the whim of the examiners. They could choose anything, even something as random as a roadside flower.

And yet, he had guessed it?

Unless his brother had stepped in dog shit the night before, Xu Erlang couldn’t think of any other explanation.

*Wait a minute…* Xu Xinnian’s shock, confusion, and bewilderment all transformed into elation and excitement.

*Big brother had guessed the question right. He guessed it right!*

He straightened his back, barely restraining the urge to let out three long cries of joy to express his overwhelming excitement.

*With my brother’s poetic talent, since he guessed the question, I, Xu Erlang, shall dominate this third round of the exams. Perhaps... I could even vie for huiyuan!*

In the metropolitan examination, those who passed were called *gongshi*, and the top candidate among them was called *huiyuan*.

His reasoning was sound. First, the metropolitan exams were marked anonymously, so his identity as a Cloud Deer Academy scholar wouldn’t be revealed, sparing him from being sidelined. Second, Xu Xinnian was a natural scholar, the favoured student of the great Confucian Zhang Shen. Moreover, with the support of the Confucian path’s eidetic memory and clear thinking, his abilities far surpassed those of the scholars from the Imperial Academy.

Lastly, to prevent cheating, the Great Feng had appointed three chief examiners and several assistants, each representing different factions—perhaps even hostile to one another.

Even if someone managed to bribe one examiner, they certainly wouldn’t be able to bribe the other two.

Thus, every metropolitan examination became a battle of wits among the examiners themselves, leading to eventual compromise and the final decisions.

“If heaven birthed not I, Xu Xinnian; the metropolitan exams would be a night that never ends!”

Even someone as proud as Xu Xinnian couldn’t contain his emotions in this empty room. He waved his arms and laughed like a fool.

If there were a bed, he would be rolling on it. If not, he might just writhe around like a worm in his excitement.

“My brother is truly my lucky star! Calm down, calm down. What was the poem Big Brother gave me to express aspiration again…?”

Xu Xinnian took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

Luckily, as an eighth-ranked Confucian, he had long mastered the ability to recall anything at will. The poem his brother had given him was excellent, and he remembered it well.

He dipped his brush into the ink, spreading out the manuscript paper. It was then that he realized his hands were still trembling slightly.

*No composure. It’s just the metropolitan exams, why am I so excited? Father always said I had the potential of a prime minister.*

With a wry smile at his own reaction, Xu Xinnian relaxed a little. His hands stopped shaking, and he swiftly began writing on the paper:

*Clear wine in golden goblets, ten thousand cash a cup,*

*Delicacies on jade platters, a myriad silver more.*

*Yet I spurn my drink and toss my chopsticks, food left untouched,*

*Drawing my sword, with empty heart and unclear thoughts.*

*I want to cross the Yellow River, yet it’s bound with ice,*

*I want to climb the Taihang Mountains, yet the snow lies deep.*

*So idly I fish by a shallow limpid stream,*

*Dreaming of sailing towards the sun’s far reach.*

*Oh, travelling is hard! Travelling is hard!*

*So many crossroads; which to choose?*

*When the winds are high and the waves are tall,*

*I’ll hoist my sails over the ocean blue.[^1][^2]*

After finishing the poem, Xu Xinnian read it over several times to make sure there were no mistakes. However, a new doubt crept into his mind.

*What is the Yellow River? And what is Taihang? So idly I fish by a shallow limpid stream, dreaming of sailing towards the sun’s far reach… is there some kind of folk tale associated with these lines?*

As a well-read scholar, Xu Xinnian racked his brain but couldn’t figure out where these places were. Based on his understanding of poetry, “So idly I fish by a shallow limpid stream” and “Dreaming of sailing towards the sun’s far reach” seemed to be allusions.

*Big brother, really… writing a poem without annotations. How am I supposed to understand his mindset or his profound meanings?*

*Yellow River and Taihang must be the names of a river and a mountain. These can be replaced. As for the other two lines, even if they’re not allusions, they’re easy enough to grasp in meaning. It shouldn’t be a problem.*

With that, Xu Xinnian replaced “Yellow River” and “Taihang” before picking up his brush to title his poem:

*Ode to the Difficult Road*

…

The chief examiners for this Spring Imperial Examination were Zhao Tingfang, Grand Academician of the Eastern Pavilion; Liu Hong, the Right Censor-in-Chief; and Qian Qingshu, Grand Academician of the Wuying Hall.

Unlike the scholars, the chief examiners and their assistants had not stepped out of the Examination Compound since the start of the imperial exams. The gates were locked tight, and unless they sprouted wings, leaving was out of the question.

To prevent collusion and cheating between examiners and candidates, the examiners were not allowed to leave the compound until the list of successful candidates was finalised.

Compared to the frantic atmosphere of grading during the first two rounds, the mood among the assistant examiners had shifted dramatically.

“This is absolute nonsense. What rubbish poetry dares to show its face at the imperial exams?”

“Using bamboo as a metaphor to express one's willpower is a decent angle, but the poem focuses more on the bamboo than the actual theme. It's putting the cart before the horse.”

“Sigh, I’ve been reading for hours, and there’s not a single poem that stands out.”

“Isn’t it always like this? We’ve all gotten used to it by now.”

The examiners, also known as “curtain officers”, were grading while commenting aloud. Although the atmosphere seemed tense at first glance, in reality, this was the most relaxed part of their work.

Poetry wasn’t taken seriously—if it turned out well, it was a pleasant bonus; if not, it didn’t really matter. The students’ poems were mostly average at best, and an ordinary composition was considered a rare gem. None of it was enough for the examiners to treat seriously.

In the capital, there was one person whose name was inextricably linked with poetry—Nightwatcher Xu Qi'an, hailed by the literati as the champion of poetry or, as some would say, the savior of the Great Feng poetry scene.

“If Xu Qi'an were participating in this exam, there would be no doubt. At the very least, this year would see a masterpiece that could stand the test of time.”

“Who wouldn’t agree? But alas, Xu Qi'an isn’t a scholar. When future generations read about the famous poems of the Yuanjing era, and find that they all come from a martial man, where will we scholars hide our faces?”

The literati held mixed feelings about Xu Qi'an. On the one hand, they were grateful for his rise, which had given the past two centuries at least a few respectable poems, saving future generations from shame.

On the other hand, they lamented that he was a warrior, not a scholar, for this too would lead to future disgrace.

In the two hundred years of the Great Feng, with millions of scholars, none could compare to a mere warrior.

“All of this is Xu Pingzhi's fault.”

At that moment, an examiner unfurled a newly transcribed paper, glanced at it for a few seconds, and suddenly froze in place. His body turned rigid, and he stood still as if turned to stone.

But his lips kept moving, repeating the same words over and over.

After a few minutes, the examiner abruptly stood up, looked around at his colleagues, took a deep breath, and declared, “Who says that the scholars of Great Feng can’t produce good poetry? Who says it?”

The other examiners turned to him in confusion, unsure of what had gotten into him.

It was a well-established fact that the poets of this era were mediocre at best, and no one was disputing it.

Bang!

The examiner slapped the paper onto the table, his chest heaving with excitement. “I swear, this poem will be remembered throughout the ages. This year’s exam will certainly be noted by the historians.”

Another curious examiner stepped over and picked up the paper. After just a glance, he too began to tremble in excitement.

“What a masterpiece! What a poem! Ha ha ha, who says the scholars of the Great Feng can’t produce good poetry?”

Now the other examiners realized that a true gem had appeared. They crowded around, passing the paper among themselves, offering animated critiques and praise.

“Such a poem deserves a grand toast.”

“‘When the winds are high and the waves are tall, I’ll hoist my sails over the ocean blue.’ This is the kind of poetry a true scholar should write.”

“How could a mere student compose such a world-weary and profound piece?”

“Perhaps this was written by someone who has failed many times and wishes to express their resolve through poetry.”

The appearance of this poem, *Ode to the Difficult Road*, was like a golden phoenix among a flock of hens. Its value was unmatched, and the examiners couldn't stop passing it around and excitedly discussing it.

“Ahem!”

A cough came from the doorway, where the white-haired Grand Academician of the Eastern Pavilion stood with his hands behind his back. The noise had drawn him over.

At once, the examiners fell silent.

“What sort of behaviour is this, making such a racket?”

Grand Academician Zhao Tingfang reprimanded them before asking, “I heard someone say that this poem will be remembered for generations?”

An examiner immediately stepped forward, respectfully handing over the paper.

Zhao Tingfang gave them all a sharp look before taking the paper and squinting at it… His hand trembled as he held the poem.

Anyone could tell that this was an exceptional work, one that stirred the soul.

But experience changed how a person was moved.

This poem was not only about ambition—it was about a life marked by hardship and struggle. From the lines of bewilderment at the difficulty of the road to the triumphant cry of riding the wind and waves, anyone who had faced similar challenges would be moved.

The final line encapsulated not just ambition but elevated the entire poem’s sentiment to a profound level.

*This child is a great talent. If their answers in the Classics and Policy questions are also excellent, I shall certainly name them the huiyuan!* Zhao Tingfang thought to himself.

…

The day after the Spring Imperial Examination ended, Xu Xinnian noticed that his family’s treatment of him had taken a sharp downturn. Every morning before, his mother would have the kitchen prepare a steaming bowl of fresh milk for him.

At lunch, he’d have rich, aromatic chicken soup, and in the evening, it would be ginseng broth.

His mother would check in on him throughout the day, offering comfort. His father and elder brother would also ask how he was doing during meals. His younger sister, Xu Lingyue, would do the same, and even his youngest sister, Xu Lingyin, would occasionally cheer him on, saying, “Second brother, work hard!”

But since the final round of exams, the milk had vanished, the chicken soup was gone, and so was the ginseng broth. After they asked when the results would be posted, everyone stopped paying much attention to him.

At the dinner table, Xu Qi'an asked, “Why does Erlang look so upset? Did the last round not go well?”

Xu Xinnian said nothing. After the meal, he dragged his brother into the study and stared at him intensely. “Big brother… you guessed the question.”

Xu Qi'an was both surprised and not surprised by this outcome. He nodded and asked, “Was it patriotism or aspiration?”

“Aspiration!”

Xu Xinnian asked for clarification, “Where are the Yellow River and Taihang? And what about ‘So idly I fish by a shallow limpid stream’ and ‘Dreaming of sailing towards the sun’s far reach’ — what allusions do these lines have?”

*...Huh? Those lines have historical allusions? I don’t remember that!* Xu Qi'an was utterly bewildered.

“‘So idly I fish by a shallow limpid stream’ is because I enjoy fishing. And ‘Dreaming of sailing towards the sun’s far reach’ is… it’s… Hey, why are you asking so many questions? The exam is over, stop worrying about it!

“Hurry up and tear up those Four Books and Five Classics. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Jiaofangsi for some fun.”

Xu Qi'an grumbled and escaped.

Back in his room, he found Zhong Li sitting on the bed, bandaging her head, with faint traces of blood seeping through.

“Did you fall again?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Zhong Li nodded pitifully, then added, “I’ve discovered that your sister’s fortune is incredibly resilient.”

“Which sister?” Xu Qi'an asked.

…

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[^1]: 《行路难》 *Travelling is Hard* by Li Bai. Translation Mine.

[^2]: Author’s note: Poetry in the civil service examinations are usually not of the *qiyan* format. I’ve slightly modified the process in this alternative world for narrative purposes